


Till Death Do Us Part (But Not Really)

by Lilbug121



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil is Inhuman, Cecil is immortal, Neither of them die in this don't worry, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilbug121/pseuds/Lilbug121
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life and death are both temporary states.<br/>Love is eternal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Death Do Us Part (But Not Really)

**Author's Note:**

> In which Cecil is immortal, and keeps outliving his soulmate. But it's mostly ok, because they keep getting reincarnated, and always find their way back together.

The first time Cecil fell absolutely head over heels in love, it was with a tall brunette woman, with green eyes and good way with animals. They got married, and the vow "till death do us part" was an unwelcome yet real reminder of the inevitable. He was a wreck when she died, although he expected it. He was a fool when he fell in love, but he was't stupid or naive. He was an outer god, exiled to the mortal realm for his fondness of the human species (though, was that really much of a punishment? He didn't see it as one). He was timeless and immortal. Humans lives were far too short for how wonderful they could be, they were far too fragile for the world they inhabited, and it was a miracle unto itself that they were not only still around but generally thriving.

The second time was about twenty years after that, a man with fiery red hair and a slight lisp that really wasn't as bad as he thought it was, and Cecil almost didn't believe his luck when he realized what had happened. He died too of course, as all mortals do, but the knowledge that they were truly soul mates and would meet again softened the blow. 

The third was a women with dark tan skin, long black hair, and a bit of a lazy eye, who could sing so well that birds were probably jealous of her. She died of disease only a year after they were together. Though softened by knowledge, he was still hit hard enough to knock the wind from him. 

And so it went, an immortal being falling in love with the same soul in different forms for millennia. Men, women, neither, and both. All manner of natural, unnatural, and supernatural hair and eyes and skin and bodies. He remembered every one of them clearly and cherished their memories equally. 

And so, when he felt that familiar tugging on his heart (in the metaphorical sense, though he probably did have an organ or five that served a similar purpose), he let it lead him to his love's newest form and, as he has time and again, he fell in love instantly. 

And waited patiently, for his love to remember, if not in their conscious mind then in their heart, and be pulled toward him as well. To fall in love once again, familiar yet new, and spend the rest of this life together, then to wait patiently for the next life to come around and spend that together too. 

His loves rarely died before they get to know each other again, though it has happened before. It was always the worst on him when this happens. Because of the wasted potential, and because it is so unexpected. He expects them to die of age or disease, or even a freak accident, but not until they've had their time together. So when he sees his love fall bloody and limp, before they even remember (and it was so close, he could feel it, could feel the remembered affection bubbling to the surface of their brain and about to pop with realization but they were gone now and it was too early) he cannot restrain the torrent of loss and sadness that does not dull with time and repetition, as pain rarely does, and when the flood of relief washes over him with sudden realization he can scarcely collect himself enough to speak (but of course he does, he nearly always does, he is a professional after all, and his love was his one exception but only some of the time). 

Their comfortable silence speaks volumes, and though Carlos cannot pin down why, everything about Cecil feels strangely and wonderfully familiar, like a near-forgotten childhood memory tucked somewhere hidden in his subconscious. Months pass, disasters are avoided and experienced and studied and reported on, and true love blossoms once more, like a perennial flower that blossoms each spring without fail despite the harsh winter. 

Because whoever wrote the wedding vows got it wrong. Death does not part lovers, not really. It simply separates them for a time. 

Life and death are both temporary states.

Love is eternal.


End file.
